


The First Day of the Brave New World

by Brownies96



Series: Good Omens Missing Chapters [11]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 6000 Years of Pining, Getting Together, Happy Ending, Light Angst, Love Confessions, M/M, Multi, Mutual Pining, Other, The Bentley - Freeform, The Ritz, The Switch, chickening out of love confessions, gay intensifies, holding hands on the bus, they're so in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-23
Updated: 2019-11-23
Packaged: 2021-02-27 01:54:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21529591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brownies96/pseuds/Brownies96
Summary: About freaking time!!After 6023 years Crowley and Aziraphale rebel against Heaven and Hell and finally get together.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Good Omens Missing Chapters [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1506341
Comments: 6
Kudos: 82





	1. Prologue

One thing that Crowley was not about to admit to anyone, not even to himself, was that he had a plan. It was not divine or ineffable or whatever it was She was up to lately. In fact, to call it a plan is really rather generous. It was more of a vague direction that, if he was being honest with himself (he wasn’t) would be a rather wonderful direction for his life to go.

In Crowley’s opinion, if there was one thing that 6000 years of bullshit could teach you, it was how to play the long game. Of course, this opinion was only heard after a copious amount of alcohol and absolute certainty that Aziraphale was absolutely nowhere nearby. And even then it was only ever heard inside Crowley’s head, in a very small voice, one that was most definitely not welcome just about all of the time.

This plan (because I am feeling generous so I will call it that) had begun with the words “I gave it away”. He had been so worried, but his concern had been so genuine Crowley couldn’t pick up even the tiniest bit of guilt over what had transpired, only concern for the consequences. It was the most demonic thing he’d ever seen an angel do. Well, the least demonic thing he’d seen an angel do that wasn’t directly to do with malice, or killing, or generally being a bit of a dick. People will tell you that demons are the ones with bad attitude but where do you think they learned it?  
  


There had been setbacks, words that had pruned growth of the seed that “I gave it away” had started, some had even been his own. “What? Even the children?” had set the sapling back pretty hard. “We’re not having this conversation. Not another word” That’d taken a branch. “We’re not friends. We don’t even know each other.” Ouch. Another branch gone. “Do you know what trouble I'd be in if they knew I'd been fraternising? It's completely out of the question” Ouch. “And the feeling is mutual” Ouch. “Obviously”. Reduced to a stump. But the thing about trees, if they have very good root systems, if left to grow for enough time, and this particular tree has had plenty of time. All of time, actually. So even when more words came. “You go too fast for me Crowley”. It managed to grow back, somehow stronger. Even after the bandstand, it had somehow survived.

Nothing Crowley could do had any effect on the tree. You could try to set fire to it, by getting as angry, by hating Aziraphale. Nothing. You could try to drown it in sadness, but it just seemed to soak up all the water. You could try to neglect it. Slept for nearly 100 years. Didn’t fix it. It’s so typical, all of this could start with a tree, and Crowley felt like his entire existence might end with this one.

But then, Armageddon happened. Or rather, didn’t happen. And suddenly there was no Heaven, no Hell to intervene and Aziraphale was every bit as lost as Crowley. And suddenly the tree was strong enough to support something, a branch out to Aziraphale. “You can stay at my place, if you like”.

“We’re on our side.” And they were.

But actually acting on it was a completely different matter.


	2. Our Side

“ _When alle is fayed and all is done, ye must choofe your faces wisely, for soon enouff ye will be playing with fyre_ ” Prophecy 5004, The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter

“You can stay at my place, if you like,” Crowley said. Say yes, he begged silently. He needed Aziraphale to stay for so many reasons, not the least of which, so that he wouldn’t have to be alone. Not after today.

“I don’t think my side would like that very much.” Aziraphale fell back on what he always said when Crowley got too close.

“You don’t have a side anymore. Neither of us do. We’re on our own side.”

The bus pulled up and Aziraphale looked at Crowley properly. Whatever he saw must have been enough because he reached out for Crowley’s hand and took it. They hadn’t held hands in . . . it must have been centuries, millennia even. Crowley was surprised by the sudden warmth in his right hand, but he didn’t pull away. He let himself be pulled onto the bus and sat down beside Aziraphale, there was no need to hide now, not when they’d already done something so much worse.

Crowley tried to speak, to say something to Aziraphale as they held hands on the bus like ordinary humans, but he couldn’t. There was nothing he was brave enough to say that Aziraphale didn’t already know, he let the silence sink onto them like a warm blanket.

If this was going to be the last night Crowley ever spent with Aziraphale, he knew he’d have to say something. He couldn’t just let him go, not without trying. But not yet, if this was the last he ever got to see and touch of Aziraphale, then he was going to bask in it for as long as he could.

Two hours wasn’t enough, Crowley thought, as the bus pulled off the A40, taking the Cumberland gate and pulling up neatly outside Crowley’s flat.

Crowley tried not to think about the last time Aziraphale had been to a place of his. He’d still been at the house in Charring Cross back then. Things hadn’t been simpler then, not by a long shot, but they had been easier. They’d known where they stood, at least, now everything they’d ever known, everything they’d ever thought they knew was thrown about in the chaos of the world having technically ended but not stopped. They had no way of knowing what the world would look like tomorrow, or if they’d even live to see it.

Crowley didn’t let go of Aziraphale’s hand as they took the elevator up to his apartment. Aziraphale let go as he entered the apartment, stepping properly into the room and looking around. Crowley really wished he’d hidden that sculpture by Il Salaì, but it was too late now. When he’d left, he’d assumed he was never going to see the apartment again.

Aziraphale pushed open the door to his office.

“Oh!” Aziraphale said, as if he’d come across a cockroach or something. Cockroach really wasn’t that far off; it was what was left of Ligur.

“Yeah, sorry about that. Had to use the Holy Water to get away.” Crowley hated how cracked his voice sounded. In his defence the world was ending and Aziraphale had been gone, apparently forever.

Aziraphale peered at him. “I always thought-“

“I know,” Crowley said. I know that you thought I was going to kill myself with it, I’m sorry that I’m happy you were scared as you handed it over, because it meant you cared.

“I’m sorry for not thinking better of you,” Aziraphale said judiciously. I’m sorry for making you wait so long, I’m sorry for treating you like an enemy when I should have been treating you like the most important being in creation.

“S’fine angel, I had it when I needed it.” You always come through when I need you.

Words unspoken hung in the air, thick cobwebs they had to avoid. Not for fear of any real danger, just from habit. As it happened, habits six thousand years in the making do not break so easily.

But the words still came to both of them, unbidden, writhing and twisting in their minds, more desperate than ever to be let out.

“Oh, how splendid!” Aziraphale had walked into the plant’s room, just off the office.

“Don’t say that, you’ll spoil them.”

Aziraphale gave Crowley and amused look, which meant something along the lines of ‘I watched you spoil Warlock silly for six years, you haven’t a leg to stand on with this argument,’ but he didn’t say anything further as he admired the plants. They were splendid, though, and despite how terrified they were, he could sense the care and dedication Crowley had put into them. It didn’t feel the same way the things humans loved did. No, it felt like something completely different, albeit still very familiar. Aziraphale tried to shake himself out of this reverie, but the reverie was having none of it.

Aziraphale was getting dangerously close to Il Salaì’s sculpture, so Crowley decided it was time to distract him. He pulled out the chair on the other side of his desk, it didn’t feel right to have either of them sitting in the throne (though Crowley’s imagination immediately conjured a very alluring image of Aziraphale sitting in it, looking like some kind of scholar-king). Crowley perched himself on the table and waited. It didn’t take long for Aziraphale to turn around to see the empty seat beside Crowley.

“So,” Aziraphale said.

“So,” Crowley replied.

“We helped save the world today.”

“We did. Everyone’s furious with us, though.”

“Indeed. Do you think they’ll come for us soon?”

“My lot won’t, they don’t know I’m out of Holy Water. Yours?”

“I don’t think so, they have no knowledge of this address, and I can feel the wards you’ve put in, they shouldn’t be able to find me unless they look very hard.”

“Yeah.” Crowley’s throat was dry. He was so unbelievably tired, but also filled with nervous energy at the same time.

“Though it might be a good idea if I were to . . .” Aziraphale gestured around the room.

“Go ahead.”

Aziraphale pulled at Heaven’s power and hid the house from demonic view. It passed over Crowley like a cold flame.

Aziraphale was so close, there wasn’t even an entire inch of space between their knees. Crowley could feel the warmth and power radiating off him. It had never been so difficult to hold himself back. Only a few hours ago Aziraphale had been dead and the last words he’d ever said to him were “Not a good time, got an old friend here.” Or worse, the last words he’d said in person “And when I’m off in the stars, I won’t even think about you!”

It had hurt. It had hurt so much he’d thought he was going to discorporate. It was all just so much: Losing Aziraphale, the end of the world, the world suddenly not ending but they wouldn’t be around long enough to enjoy it. Hadn’t that been the whole point of saving the world? Saving it for themselves? But Crowley couldn’t make himself regret what had happened.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale whispered, so gently that if Crowley hadn’t seen his lips move, he might have dismissed it as his imagination.

Crowley felt something warm and wet on his face. He was crying. How long had he been crying? His glasses would have hidden most of it, but one traitorous drop slowly fell down his cheek. This wasn’t how Crowley normally cried. Crowley cried while screaming, while yelling and demanding answers from a cold unfeeling world. He cried in anger, in hopelessness. He’d never cried from being overwhelmed before.

Aziraphale reached out and wiped the tear from Crowley’s face. Crowley could practically see the wheels turning in his mind, debating whether or not to remove the sunglasses. Fuck it, Crowley thought, I’m not going to spend my last night hiding from him. He took the glasses off himself.

Aziraphale searched Crowley’s eyes, determined to map every bit of them. He didn’t have anything he could say to help. There were no assurances he could give, and Crowley had never really gone for his assurances anyway. Crowley was just real and there and everything. Aziraphale felt tears prick at his own eyes. He pushed back at the desire to pull Crowley into a hug. He’d never actually seen anyone hug Crowley before Warlock; he’d never even thought of it as a possibility. He was so used to pulling away. But Heaven weren’t watching, he remembered, or if they were, they already knew.

Crowley almost didn’t understand what was happening as Aziraphale stood up and wrapped his arms around him. It was as if Aziraphale had somehow pressed a pause button on his mind with his embrace. Crowley had to remind himself that it was safe to hug Aziraphale back, but once he’d done so it felt like the easiest thing in the world to return the embrace.

Aziraphale tensed in Crowley's arms for a moment before stepping back, his eyes wide. He reached into his coat pocket, pulling out the prophecy, its charcoal edges disintegrating a bit as he did so.

“Crowley, how do you think Hell will punish you?” Aziraphale said very quickly.

Crowley stammered for a moment. “What?”

“I’ve just had a thought: Gabriel and Beelzebub appeared together at the air base. Uriel somehow knew that you were in trouble. They’re working together.” Aziraphale’s eyes were alight with his realisation, he began to pace.

Realising this could take a while, Crowley arranged himself over the surface of the table to listen.

“How could they have found out?”

That made Crowley think, “Wouldn’t have been my lot, Leonardo destroyed their file on you.”

“The files! Of course, an angel must have found something and told them. Crowley, do you realise what this means?” Aziraphale made a note to ask Crowley exactly how Leonardo da Vinci had come to be in possession of his file if they survived this.

Crowley didn’t, not at first. But then he looked over at the melted coat that used to belong to Ligur. Oh. He looked back at Aziraphale. Oh. _For soon enouff ye will be playing with fyre_.

“Hellfire.” He said hoarsely. They were going to burn Aziraphale. Not just his bookshop, not even just his corporation: They were going to burn Aziraphale’s essence until there wasn’t anything of him left.

“Holy Water, for you, I should think.” Aziraphale felt like he might start crying again.

No, Aziraphale wanted to scream, I’m not going to let them take this away from me. He couldn’t believe God would want this. She was so much more present in humanity than She had ever been in angels; the way they created things, the way they loved. Aziraphale sent up one final prayer, to Her, to humanity, ‘Please let us survive this. I know he’s a demon. I know I’ve rebelled against Heaven. But please, just let us have this.’

She didn’t respond or manifest before them. She hadn’t done that in a long time. He dropped his hands by his sides and the prophecy fell to the floor. The prophecy!

“When all is said and all is done, you must choose your faces wisely, for soon enough you will be playing with fire,” Aziraphale picked it up and read it aloud.

With lightning speed that would have given a human whiplash, Crowley’s head shot up to meet Aziraphale’s gaze.

“Angel!” he said, “we have to switch corporations.”

Aziraphale took an unconscious step towards Crowley. “Of course!” he paused, “How on Earth do we do that?”

“Search me,” Crowley said, “you’re the one that’s possessed somebody.”

“Right,” Aziraphale said, filing away the fact that Crowley had never possessed someone away for the moment. “We’d have to be very careful, do everything at the exact same time. I can’t imagine our corporations could handle us both at once.”

Crowley wasn’t going to go there. If this worked, if this plan really worked, then he’d have other opportunities to go there after. Opportunities that he’d probably pass up out of fear of rejection, but opportunities none the less.

“So, er, what do we do?” Crowley asked.

“I suppose we ought to, erm.” Aziraphale held out his hand. Crowley took it faster than he probably should have. Then again, going too fast was sort of his style.

“It might be easier if we try to move the bodies, rather than our essences,” Aziraphale said, “that way we won’t have to worry about them getting tangled together and, erm . . .”

“Exploding. Right.” Crowley finished the statement for him. After a few false starts they managed to pour their corporations over to the other.

It was a weird feeling, Crowley thought, like putting on clothes that didn’t quite fit right. And suddenly everything smelt like brioche. That was weird. It was like hugging Aziraphale but closer somehow.

“That was a thing,” Crowley said, a little horrified to hear the words come out with his inflection but with Aziraphale’s tone.

“Indeed it was,” Aziraphale replied, adding to Crowley’s sense of weird because the words were coming out if his mouth. His mouth that was over there being worn by Aziraphale. “This is very . . . odd.” Odd indeed. Aziraphale’s way of moving his eyebrows as he spoke looked wrong on his body.

“We’re going to have to do better than this,” Crowley said, “I can still tell it’s you.”

“And I you, I would never sit like that.”

Crowley immediately straightened his posture and folded his arms behind his back, making the primmest expression he possible could. “Better?” he asked in a passable imitation of Aziraphale.

“Oh I can’t be that-“

“You are,” Crowley cut him off with certainty.

“Fine then,” Aziraphale splayed himself dramatically across the chair he’d been sitting in earlier. “S’not like I can’t give as good as I get,” Aziraphale said, imitating Crowley as Crowley had imitated him.

They looked stubbornly across the table at each other and burst out laughing. It was strange to hear Aziraphale’s chortle come from Crowley’s mouth and Crowley’s barked laughter from Aziraphale’s, which, of course, only made them laugh harder.

They tried again, trying to get each other’s mannerisms exactly right. It was easier than many would think, they had known each other for over 6000 years after all. The hardest part was not laughing.

Aziraphale couldn’t help but laugh as he tried to mimic Crowley’s walk. “My dear, I feel ridiculous!”

Crowley couldn’t even bite back with a retort because he was laughing so hard. He did try, but it just came out as his usual, eloquent, syllable soup (Now with more Aziraphale TM).

The sun was already rising by the time they had formulated their plan and managed to stop laughing at each other.

“Right,” Aziraphale said in Crowley’s voice, “I’ll meet you at St James Park?”

“Of course. If I don’t arrive then they’re at the bookshop,” Crowley replied, imitating Aziraphale.

Aziraphale broke character for just one moment, “Best of luck,” he whispered.

Crowley was in agony. What if this was the last time he ever saw Aziraphale? He was so desperate for this plan to work, for them to buy themselves more time. They had just spent an entire night making fond fun of each other. It was the closest they’d ever come to confessing, admitting how much of every little detail they had noticed about the other.

Please, Crowley thought, knowing he’d couldn’t ask it aloud. Please tell me that I’m all you want, that you need me every bit as much as I need you. Tell me that you can’t bear to live without me. Tell me that when this is all over, we’ll stay together. I don’t care if it’s as friends or something else, just tell me that you want me to stay with you for however much time we can get for ourselves.

It hurt unbearably to think it, because he had known Aziraphale for so long he could imagine him saying it, he could conjure his voice in his mind as easily as breathing. Crowley ached for how badly he needed to hear it. Tell me I can do it; I can make you smile with that sparkle in your eye. Tell me that we can do this. Tell me everything is going to be OK. Tell me you love me as soul-crushingly and all-consumingly I love you.

“Yeah, you too,” he said. He’d never forgive himself if he died without telling Aziraphale. So he supposed he had to live.


	3. To the World

“Cheers.” Crowley held out his glass, not bothering to fight back the wave of fondness that washed over him. “To the world.”

“To the world.” Aziraphale clinked their glasses together gently. They each took a sip. There was no need to rush, they had all the time in the world.

Aziraphale leant forward, placing his hand on the table near Crowley “Oh! Everything was alright with the Bentley, wasn’t it?” It had helpfully appeared outside the main entrance, ready for Crowley to drive it home. Crowley had never had to adjust the seat before, but Aziraphale’s legs hadn’t been able to reach the pedals. Still the car knew it’s owner when it saw him, regardless of who’s body he was piloting.

Crowley smiled, “It was,” he said, his eyes still on Aziraphale’s hand.

“I’m so glad. Though if you’re correct about Adam giving me more books, I’m going to have to do a complete inventory when I return.” Aziraphale said this in the same way one would talk about their plans to go on a lovely vacation.

Crowley listened to Aziraphale talk about his bookshop and how excited he was to return to it. It was so utterly charming to watch Aziraphale speak with passion, Crowley had no idea how anyone could not love him. He was so angry at the other angels for not seeing how incredible Aziraphale was, but he knew he’d get over it, Aziraphale was free now after all.

The feeling that was much harder to get rid of or explain away, was the nervous anticipation settling in his stomach. They couldn’t go on as they had before the apocalypse, not now that they were very certainly retired by their respective offices. If Crowley wanted to stay with Aziraphale, and he did, there would be no more excuses for dropping in. And even if he could go back to what they’d had before he’d delivered the Antichrist, he wasn’t sure he would. He’d gotten rather used to seeing Aziraphale every day, going back to what it had been before would be agonising. He couldn’t fathom how he’d survived hundreds of years without Aziraphale in the past.

He managed to tear his eyes away from Aziraphale’s hand long enough to meet his eyes. Aziraphale smiled slightly, making his dimples show, before looking down and taking a bite of his devil’s food cake. Crowley had nearly choked on his champagne when he’d ordered that but had decided that two could play at that game and had ordered an angel cake for himself.

Crowley ate as he always did, taking a few bites to get the idea of the dish before pushing his plate over to Aziraphale. What had never happened before, was Aziraphale offering some of his own dessert to Crowley.

“It is named for you, after all,’ Aziraphale said, the gleam in his eyes that made Crowley’s corporation’s heart start doing somersaults.

“Same for you with this,” Crowley managed to say. He really should stop smiling. But why? Maybe he didn’t have to push away his happiness anymore. That made the nervousness in his stomach redouble its efforts. He was powerless to resist when, after they had tried the other’s cake, reached his hand across the table one last time and looked at Crowley, there was a question in Aziraphale’s eyes, one Crowley hoped he could answer. He put his hand in Aziraphale’s.

They don't let go. Not while Crowley paid the bill. Not as they walked back to the Bentley. The idea of letting go seemed to have completely slipped their minds.

Crowley stopped them at the hood of his car. Night had fallen in the hours they had spent over dinner and dessert, as the sun had only been beginning to set when they had entered the Ritz. He looked up at the stars he helped make. Maybe, just maybe, he could create something again. It was a thrilling thought, though undeniably terrifying. He's said nothing for so long.

Aziraphale broke the silence, “Did you bring me out here to say something, my dear?”

Crowley made a gurgling choking sound and nodded. This was going well.

Aziraphale just smiled politely, looking at him with that gleam in his eyes.

Crowley took a deep breath. “You know what I'm about to say, don't you?” He took off his glasses, it was dark enough that only Aziraphale would be able to see his eyes.

“I can't say for certain,” Aziraphale said, “I would never presume to speak for you. But yes, I believe I do.” Aziraphale was smiling slightly. He’d known, he’d always known, he’d just been too afraid to put it into words. That feeling he’d always felt coming from Crowley, the one he’d described as starving Tantalus reaching out to food. He knew it’s name.

Crowley made another choking sound. “And?” he said.

“You still have to say it, my dear,” he said, the bastard.

Crowley continued to choke on nothing.

Aziraphale paused, a flash of concern ran through him. “Is something wrong?” he asked.

“No,” Crowley said, seeing the concern on his face, “I've just spent 6000 years not saying it. I don't think my mouth has caught up,” he explained. 

The smile returned to Aziraphale’s face. “Take your time, my dear. We have just bought ourselves rather a lot of it.”

Crowley smiled. That was true, they had all the time in the world. Maybe he didn’t need to do this immediately, maybe Aziraphale would want time to think everything over.

“I can . . . Not say it, if you want. We can just go back to the way things were,” he offered, not sure if he wanted Aziraphale to say yes or no.

“It's a bit late for that, my dear.”

Crowley tried very hard not to start spluttering again. He failed, but only a bit.

“And if I didn't want to hear it I wouldn't still be here,” Aziraphale continued.

“Are-are you sure?” Crowley asked, wondering when his corporation had started to feel like there was a tornado running through it. It was a stark contrast to the warm, clear night.

“Quite sure, thank you,” Aziraphale said.

“Angel, I – “ Crowley began. It felt like he had to force the words out of himself. Swallowing them down every time they reached the tip of his tongue had been a habit for so long. He looked over Aziraphale, sitting politely on the hood of the Bentley, his hands clasped in his lap. All Crowley had to do was let the words out.

“I love you.”

Aziraphale smiled, “Wonderful.”

“Wonderful? I go through all that just for-“ Crowley demanded.

Aziraphale shushed him. “I'm not finished. It's wonderful, because I find I seem to love you too.”

That was what Crowley had needed to hear. He’d never let himself expect it, he’d never thought he’d get to hear it. He could feel the want coming off Aziraphale in waves now that he was brave enough to look for it. It was more than he’d ever really let himself hope. But it was here and real. For a moment, he wondered if the world had ended and this was his hoped and dreams flashing before his eyes as he died. But it couldn’t be. Not after everything they’d been through.

“Bastard,” he said, smiling.

Crowley moved across the hood of the Bentley to be closer to Aziraphale. He wanted to give his angel plenty of time to back away or to stop him, but Aziraphale was having none of it. Crowley felt Aziraphale’s hands gently move to cup his face and then they were kissing.

It was everything and somehow not enough. Crowley knew that even if he was somehow lucky enough to spend the next 6000 or so years kissing Aziraphale he would never tire of it. Still he let Aziraphale pull away. Crowley couldn’t help but grin back at Aziraphale’s wide smile.

“To the bookshop?” Crowley guessed.

“If you please.” Aziraphale’s dimples were so clear even in the darkness.

Crowley lent forward one more time and pressed a chaste kiss to Aziraphale’s lips. He repeated the words he’d said so long ago, in a different time, a different life.

“Anywhere you wanna go,” he promised.

[Psssst if you want to know what happened next go [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21555637/chapters/51388684), fair warning, there be smut]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for your support in writing this collection. There is more to come, I have started my post-canon shenanigans, but I won't be posting every single day anymore.
> 
> I really appreciate your support <3


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